


Home (is wherever I'm with you)

by forgivenessishardforus



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Break Up, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, John Murphy interacts with pretty much everyone and realizes he doesn't hate them anymore, Murphamy - Freeform, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 04, and makeup, for the Congeda Kickstarter, memorven, murnty (I made that up), space squad!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgivenessishardforus/pseuds/forgivenessishardforus
Summary: “How many times have they cast you out? Cast us out? Left us to die? You know as well as I do that if there hadn’t been space for everyone in that rocket, we would have been left behind.”“Echo—”“So Echo first, and then me. People stick with their own, John. And no matter what happens, you’ll always be one of them.”“One of them?”Emori looks up at him, unrepentant.“There aren’t sides here, Emori. And these are good people, most of the time. They won’t hurt you.”“They did before,” she whispers.





	Home (is wherever I'm with you)

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a backer reward for the Con-Geda 2018 Kickstarter! Based on the following prompt: 
> 
> "I’d like something featuring Murphy! Either Memori fluff, (or Murven, I ship both) or Murphy/Raven/Emori OT3 (can be friendship, or a poly romance if anyone is cool with writing that). I don’t mind angst but nothing too dark please! I really just want to feel FEELINGS about my 3 favorites/really all of spacekru bonding."
> 
> Dear whoever requested this, I hope you like it! <3

****They break up over something stupid.

They’re about eight months into their five-year stay on the Ark and tensions are running high—as they tend to do on an almost predictable basis, given that they’re seven people trapped on a hellish prison in the frozen confines of space—and, look, John Murphy has always had a regrettably hot temper, all right? It would explode out of him, sometimes without warning, sometimes with disastrous consequences.

It ends when Emori refuses to come to dinner. She’s sitting by one of the bay windows and staring longingly out at the stars—and he understands that, he does; never before in her life had she been confined to a floating box, before she had always been able to wander where she would, if an outcast then at least _free_.

“C’mon,” he says, standing beside her and holding out a hand. “The others are waiting.” They tried to eat together as a group every night, at Monty’s suggestion, as a reminder to all that had lost so much that they weren’t alone. (He had scoffed at the idea but secretly was a little awed to be allowed back in the group that had kicked him out, after he had caused so much harm.)

“Not tonight,” Emori says absently.

“You said that last night.” He can’t help the edge that creeps into his voice. “And the night before. You have to at least _try_ , Emori.”

“Why?” Her voice shakes. “These are your people, John, not mine.”

“They could be yours, too.”

“How many times have they cast you out? Cast _us_ out? Left us to die? You know as well as I do that if there hadn’t been space for everyone in that rocket, we would have been left behind.”

“Echo—”

“So Echo first, and then me. People stick with their own, John. And no matter what happens, you’ll always be one of them.”

“One of _them_?”

Emori looks up at him, unrepentant.

“There aren’t _sides_ here, Emori. And these are good people, most of the time. They won’t hurt you.”

“They did before,” she whispers.

Most other nights he would sit beside her and offer her words of comfort, but tonight—maybe it’s the three-day headache that’s a result from shortened rations, or that they’ve had this conversation a dozen times before, or that earlier that day he and Raven had almost come to blows before Bellamy had broken it up, and he still had that violent energy simmering inside of him—tonight he finds himself saying, voice rising near to a shout, “Why can’t you trust them? Trust _me_.”

“I don’t belong here, John.”

“Only because you haven’t tried.”

“I don’t _want_ to belong,” she says carefully, and it lands like a physical blow.

“Not even for me?”

She turns her gaze back to the star-studded window and draws her arms tighter around her folded knees.

“I was enough for you when your people cast you out, but not anymore, not now that they want you back. You don’t have to choose.”

He wants to say: _You don’t mean that._

He wants to say: _You’ll feel better after you eat,_ and _Come on, we don’t have to sit with the others if you don’t want_.

He wants to say: _You are my home, you’ll always be my home._

But he doesn’t. What he says instead is, “Maybe you’re right.”

And then he turns and walks away, legs stiff, hands balled into fists, and doesn’t look back.

Later, he goes to bed alone in a different room, his stomach half-full of algae salad, and thinks about how maybe they were like a supernova, bright and brilliant but destined to collapse.

Or maybe he’s like a black hole, destined to suck the light out of everything around him.

And then he thinks about how living back in space lends him a strange poeticism more fitting of Jasper, had he still been alive, and banishes those thoughts from his mind.

◒

Bellamy finds him in the gym four days later, where he’s releasing his anger into the punching bag (cobbled together from scraps of cloth and filled with insulation Raven assured them the ship wouldn’t miss) that hangs from one of the pipes snaking across the ceiling.

“Hey,” Bellamy says in that calm voice that means _Let’s talk_ , and Murphy ignores him, driving his fists over and over again into the bag. Bellamy sighs, and without looking Murphy can sense him leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. “What happened?”

Space had changed Bellamy most of all, in a way that’s almost frightening because of how little it showed on the surface, except for the scruff that he no longer bothered shaving every day; Bellamy had changed on the inside, in a way that was only visible in his face when he thought no one was looking, barely audible in his voice when he says something that doesn’t come naturally to him. Like now.

And Murphy isn’t exactly prone to pity, especially not towards someone with whom he’d had such a contentious relationship, but...he’d heard Bellamy crying out in his sleep once, when he’d gotten up in the middle of the night to go pee. And it wasn’t like they’d _talked_ about it, but he knows Bellamy blames himself for Clarke’s death, is haunted by leaving her behind.

It’s hard not to feel sympathy towards him for that, even for Murphy. Especially when—

He swallows hard and his hands fall to his sides, limp. With his back still to Bellamy, he says, “Did Clarke tell you about how she wanted to test the nightblood on Emori?”

There’s a slight pause before Bellamy replies, voice rough around the edges (the way it always is when someone brings up Clarke), “She did.”

“And did she tell you what I said I was going to do to her if Emori died?”

“That you would kill her.” Bellamy sounds bleak now and Murphy barrels on, mentally berating himself for straying too close to the taboo subject.

“I would’ve done anything to keep Emori safe, I would’ve given up my own life in a heartbeat.” Bellamy snorts softly at that—not because he doesn’t believe it but because not too long before the concept of John Murphy giving up his life for anyone was impossible to imagine. “The thought of living without her made me crazy. So why is it now that we’re finally safe, everything starts falling apart?”

Footsteps echo as Bellamy comes to stand beside him. Idly, he reaches out and pushes at the punching bag, his eyes tracing its gentle arc. “Because, up here, there’s time to think,” he says simply. “Time to think about every mistake you ever made, all the people you’ve hurt, the people who have hurt you, the things you could have done differently. The _what ifs_ and _should have beens_. You begin to question how people see you, how you see yourself.”

Bellamy pushes the bag again, almost angrily this time. “You can’t let those thoughts win, Murphy. Fight them. Go back to what you know.”

For the first time, Murphy looks at him. Their eyes meet, and he almost recoils at the raw pain laid bare in Bellamy’s, more exposed than it had been since that day when they’d launched into space with one of the ship’s seats still empty.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, not quite knowing what for.

Bellamy looks away, steadies the still-swinging bag by holding it still between two hands. He grips it tight for a moment, before letting his hands drop.

“Regardless of what happens between you and Emori,” he says, “we’re a team up here and we need to stick together, or else we’ll never make it through the next four years. So figure something out.” He hesitates before adding, “But if you love her, you shouldn’t let her go. Not without a fight.”

With that, he abruptly turns and strides from the room.

“When did you get so wise?” Murphy calls after him, half-sarcastically, but Bellamy disappears around the corner without answering.

◑

Because he’s stubborn, he sits on Bellamy’s advice for two days. During that time he steadfastly avoids Emori, refusing to meet her gaze when their paths cross and hiding out in the kitchen, a place she had always steered clear of even before their fight.

He admits to himself, quietly, that she had hurt him. And usually, when hurt, he would lash out—he can’t imagine hurting Emori, can’t even think of it, but he can’t quite bring himself to be around her. Not yet. Not and expose himself to being hurt again.

“That smells disgusting,” he offers helpfully, sitting on a chair with his arms slung over its back while Monty stirs the algae stew.

“Careful,” Monty warns. “Don’t insult the cook. That’s how you end up with poison in your food.”

“There’s no poison up here.”

“I’m sure Raven and I could come up with something.” Monty stop stirring for a moment to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you spending so much time here lately? We’re not exactly friends.”

It was true: Murphy had the feeling Monty would never fully forgive him for how he’d treated Jasper back in their early days on the ground and, well...Murphy had never had much use for friends. Despite what Bellamy always said about them needing to lean on each other.

“Got bored of making fun of Bellamy,” Murphy lies easily. “And Echo still acts like she might and could kill me, so…”

“Maybe find something useful to do with your time,” Monty suggests, not too harshly, and Murphy shrugs.

“I’m the cockroach. Useless at anything except getting under people’s feet.”

“If you’re here because you and Emori have been fighting—” Murphy opens his mouth in protest and Monty rolls his eyes before he can get out a word. “Come on, everyone knows. You guys were inseparable, and now you’re hardly ever seen in the same room together. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“Even if you’re right, I didn’t come here to talk to you about it.”

“Of course not. You came here to annoy me, presumably into murdering you.”

“Nah, you couldn’t.”

“You’d be surprised.” Monty sighs and removes the stew—which truly does smell awful—from the flame. “Not that you asked me what I think, but you’re pretty stupid to let a small fight, whatever it was about, come between you. I mean, you’re unlikely to find someone else who will fall in love with you.”

“Thanks,” Murphy says dryly.

“In all seriousness—” Monty stares at him and Murphy can see he _is_ being serious, “relationships are hard work, Murphy. I know that. Harper knows that. You can’t just run away when the going gets tough.”

“Even if I’m not enough for her anymore?”

“Harper once thought I wasn’t enough for her,” Monty says simply. “She was wrong.” He wipes his hands on his striped apron and removes it, throwing it over the back of a chair. “Don’t give up on her, is all I’m saying.”

◓

He asks Harper where Emori is, and she points him in the direction of the command centre, which has been refurbished into a workshop for Raven. He pauses on the threshold of the room, surprised to see Emori kneeling next to Raven, their heads hidden behind a giant mass of metal plates and wires.

Clearing his throat, which is suddenly dry, he asks, “What is that thing?”

“CO2 scrubber,” Raven says without looking up. “We currently only have one operational so we need to get this one up and running before we all suffocate.” As always, she manages to sound both serious and distracted. “Come here, I could use a third pair of hands.”

She seems either oblivious to the tension that radiates between him and Emori, or doesn’t care. Knowing Raven, it could be either. Or both. Reluctantly, he kneels on the opposite side of the scrubber from them, placing his hands where Raven directs.

Emori glances at him, almost shyly, their eyes meeting for the first time in six days. Something jolts through him, warm and painful.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks, voice low.

“Can you pass me that red wire?” Raven says. He does.

“Trying to belong,” Emori replies quietly, and the warmth swells.

“She’s got a knack for mechanics,” says Raven, almost proud. “I think she can help me keep this ship in tip-top shape, especially since Monty’s hands still can’t manage the more delicate work.”

“Monty seems to have found a new career path, anyway. Although he’s not terribly good at it.”

“Careful,” Raven warns, “he might poison your dinner if he hears you talk like that. He’s capable of it, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” he mutters.

Emori’s still looking at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. When she finally speaks, the words escape her in a quiet rush. “I’m sorry, John. I’m so used to...running away. To not trusting anyone. Being unloved.”

“Not many places to run away up here,” he says wryly.

“I know,” she replies, almost wistfully.

“Take this black wire and plug it into that port, see it?” Raven instructs.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says. “For making you feel like I’d choose the others over you. For allowing you the impression that there’s even a choice to be made.”

“You are...the only person I have in the world, John. But the same’s not true for you anymore.”

“Don’t be silly, you have us,” Raven points out. “We’re all in this together, now. Can you pass me that allen key? The one by your knee? Thanks.”

“Raven’s right,” says Murphy. “If you feel like you don’t belong, it’s because you don’t want to. Hell, they’ve even taken me in and everyone knows I’m difficult to get along with.”

“I lied,” Emori admits quietly. “It’s not that I didn’t want to belong but...last time I truly felt like I belonged, they kicked me out. Left me to die.”

“That won’t happen here.”

“I know.” She takes a deep breath. “I was scared. That I wasn’t enough for you anymore.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, “you’ve been enough for me since the day I met you. Emori, you’re all I need.”

“Who knew you were such a softie?” Raven observes. “Can you pass me that wrench?”

He places it into her hand, with perhaps a little more force than necessary. “Raven, would you give us a moment?”

“No can do,” Raven says cheerfully, and he would swear she’s poking fun at him. “Need to get this thing up and running again ASAP or else we could all die, as mentioned previously. But don’t let me get in the way of you making up.”

“Trust me, you won’t want to be here when we actually start making up,” he says, vaguely threatening.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He’s not entirely sure what she means by that. “Emori, can you hold this in place while I tighten the bolts?”

“I might need some time, John,” Emori says, obediently following Raven’s instruction. “But I want to be part of this. Part of your family.”

“You already are my family.”

“I know.” She smiles softly. “But part of _this_ family.” She can’t gesture with her hands full, but he knows she means the Ark.

“Murphy’s not really part of this family either,” Raven says. “He’s more like the second cousin, once removed, whom people tolerate because they must.”

“It’s true,” he says, and is half-surprised to realize the words don’t sting because they’re _not_ true, not entirely; without realizing it, sometime in the past eight months this ragtag band _had_ become his family. Sort of. And then, because he hates to feel like he’s going soft, he says to Emori, “Have you also been talking to Bellamy?”

She laughs. “Harper, actually. But she said the same thing. That we need to be a family up here if we’re going to survive.”

“God, everyone on this station is so cheesy,” he mutters.

“Don’t pretend you don’t secretly love it,” Raven says. “Hand me that screwdriver?”

A moment later she rocks back on her heels, wiping her hands on her pants. “Done,” she says, voice brimming with satisfaction. “You can go off to make out—I mean make up—in private now. I’ll get Bellamy to help me put this back in place.”

“Raven?” he says as he stands, holding out a hand to Emori and pulling her to her feet. “Thanks.”

He means, specifically, for helping Emori feel like she belongs, like she can be of use, and from the look on Raven’s face he knows she understands that.

“Anytime,” she says. “And Emori? If you’d like, I can officially start your apprenticeship tomorrow. Show you around the ship, how everything works. Maybe work our way up to spacewalking one day.”

“I’d love that,” Emori says quietly. A slow smile spreads across her face, until she’s glowing. “All this tech…”

He waits until Raven leaves the room, presumably to find Bellamy, before pulling Emori into his arms.

“I love you, you know,” he says.

“I know,” she says, with the hint of a smirk.

“I mean it,” he says, as serious as he’s ever been. “You _are_ my people. You _are_ my home. And as much as these people may be my family now—” It feels strange to say it, but he likes the way the words taste in his mouth— “You are my family, first and foremost. Don’t forget that.”

“I’ll try not to.” She reaches up, strokes his cheek. “I love you, too.”

“I know.”

And then he bends down to kiss her, arms tightening around her back. _I don’t ever want to lose you_ , he thinks.

“Ugh, get a room!” Raven calls from the doorway, where she’s returned with Bellamy at her side.

Without breaking the kiss he raises a hand to flip her off, and then pulls Emori even closer.

◐

They sit together by one of the windows looking out at the stars, his arm around her shoulders and her head tucked against his neck.

“I still can’t believe you were born up here,” she says musingly. “Among the stars. You know, I’d always wished to escape to them when I was a child. Get away from the dead zone and the people who wanted to kill me.”

“I felt the same way about Earth,” he replies with an ironic smile. “Never thought I’d ever reach it, though. I was supposed to die when I turned eighteen, you know. I wasn’t meant to live on Earth. I wasn’t meant to meet you.”

“Yes, you were,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, maybe I was.” For the first time, there with Emori in his arms, he thinks about the twists and turns his path has taken in the last eighteen months: from the skybox to the dropship to Earth; from banishment and imprisonment to the City of Light; from shooting Raven and hanging Bellamy to becoming a fake commander’s plaything; and after all that, he thinks, just to end up back here.

Except not quite.

“Earth and space can both kiss my ass,” he proclaims, “but at least they led me to you.”


End file.
